Sometimes it’s easy to suspend disbelief, even for just a moment.

Other times, it’s more likely cut adrift — laughing at an absurd juxtaposition while wondering:

What would Captain John Paul Jones think?

Consider the moment you walk into a dark room. What’s the first thing you do? Reach for the light switch, of course.

And why? Because we believe that by flipping up a tiny plastic toggle jutting from the wall, the space we occupy will suddenly become illuminated.

It’s only chemistry and physics, after all. By moving the toggle, we reconnect separated copper contacts, completing a circuit and allowing electrons to flow to the desired destination — in this case, a light bulb or other photon-emitting fixture. Light helps us find that pair of socks, avoid stepping on a LEGO, or reveal whatever else lurks in the darkness.

But in reality, there’s much more to it. Consider the lights again, and think deeper: Where does the electricity come from? How does it arrive at your house? How is it generated?

Those questions lead to a straightforward answer. It’s one that, as a dad, I’ve regularly shared with my kids, a wide smile on my face as I watch the light bulb turn on in their minds.

The answer goes something like this: It’s people. For decades — centuries even — individuals and groups you’ve never met dreamed up, engineered, built and now maintain the systems that enable you to simply turn on the lights.

So, in a way, it’s magical: an unseen world populated by smart, strong, tireless men and women, a world most of us encounter only briefly, continues to operate (mostly) out of view. They ensure these systems we take 39

for granted continue to work as expected, all day, every day.

When they don’t, it’s jarring. We know that lights, air conditioners, furnaces and refrigerators almost never stop working when it’s 65 degrees and partly sunny.

Standing in my living room as snow and ice pelt the windows at 10 p.m. in January — while wind chills hover below zero — always renews my appreciation. My mind drifts to the hardy folks, perhaps out in the elements, maintaining the electrical grid that keeps me warm, dry and illuminated—or at least keeps disruptions mercifully brief.

In my house, both young and old are challenged to express gratitude for others who keep vital systems humming:

• Police officers and firefighters who respond when we call 911.

• Nurses, doctors and others who stand ready at hospitals.

• Truck drivers who move the goods we expect to find on shelves.

• Soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines who tirelessly guard our country.

It was to some of those folks my mind drifted while I stood with my family on a cruise ship deck, watching fireworks explode in brilliant purple, red, orange and yellow. A band dressed like caricatures of “Pirates of the Caribbean” extras blasted out dad rock standards. And a reasonable facsimile of the worst pirate you’ve ever heard of (whose name rhymes with Tack Narrow), guyliner and all, literally dropped into the show from the smokestack in a cinema-worthy stunt.

Until that moment, the absurdity never really dawned on me.

After all, it seemed natural. On a cruise run by the House of Mouse, of course a pool deck party would celebrate a film franchise that’s generated more than $4.5 billion for the entertainment empire.

But then the switch of disbelief was jostled. Laughter poured from my fatherly face as my mind grappled with the irony: Here we were, in Caribbean shipping lanes, celebrating characters whose way of life was eradicated centuries ago by sustained campaigns of the British crown and other naval powers.

It didn’t escape me that a modern cruise ship — loaded with wealthy, defenseless passengers and a fair amount of “booty” — would still serve as a tempting target for those same real-life pirates at any point in history.

Feel free to look up the real history of Caribbean pirates at your leisure. I won’t bore you with the details if it’s not your thing. But suffice it to say, the story ends roughly 250 years ago when the U.S. Navy sailed into the West Indies and gave those scallywags a healthy dose of Manifest Destiny.

That Navy is also the primary reason the world’s shipping lanes remain open, allowing commerce to flow. And it’s the reason those Caribbean waters aren’t again populated by modern-day buccaneers. Instead, cruise ships lit up like Las Vegas sail safely through, hosting “Pirate Night” with fireworks instead of facing real maritime marauders.

So this month, as the U.S. Navy celebrates a quarter millennium since Capt. Jones and other founders set the first ships to sea in the name of freedom and national interest, consider this my way of saying “thank you” from a grateful family.

And happy 250th birthday, U.S. Navy. Anchors aweigh.